Not A Virgin
by LunarFlare14
Summary: Sherlock wants to set the record straight because two people now seem to believe he's never had sex... Then things get complicated. pre John/Sherlock. takes place during season 2 but no real spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

"I was in a relationship once."

John jumped. Sherlock had been silent for a long time; this was the first he had made any noise really since he told Sherlock Irene was never coming back. He had been looking through the microscope at the same thing for what felt like a week. John nearly dropped the coffee he had been drinking into his lap. He set it down next to the newspaper he was reading. "What?"

"Irene called me a virgin and I realized that my lack of romantic partners in my life had led the general public to an incorrect conclusion. I thought maybe you had come to the same and therefore I was correcting the misconception."

John stared at his friend shocked. What a strange thing to bring up.

"His name was Vince."

"So you are gay?"

"It's complicated."

John rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. When was this fling of yours?"

"When I was at university. He was clever, and could last more than a few rounds of chess with me and we quickly became friends. The first and only one I had ever had. I knew that he found my appearance appealing but generally I ignored it." Sherlock changed the slide under the instrument and fiddled with the focus. "In our second year, he asked to begin a relationship with me. I refused at first, saying it would get in the way of our friendship- sex always does that. Vince told me he was in love with me and that in time I would learn to love him."

John clenched his fists.

"I didn't want to lose him as a friend so I consented. He would regale me with compliments and declarations of love. I was content but as our relationship wore on he grew impatient. He would ask why I did not wish to have intercourse with him and called me cold until I consented."

"Did you really believe such nonsense?"

"Of course. We had sex a grand total of once- during winter break. After which I made sure there was never such an opportunity again until I had sorted out my own feelings. Vince came to my flat one early spring morning and demanded I say that I loved him. I kindly explained that I could not lie to him in such a manner. The affection I had for him was that of a friend. I apologized for not informing him sooner and asked him to leave."

"What happened?" John asked, pretending to examine the mug in front of him.

"He did not leave. He ranted about how I was not normal. How I was obviously incapable of such an emotion as love. He decided I was using him for sex and punched me in the nose. Afterward he screamed that he never wanted to see my face again." Sherlock had told the story in his usual voice but by the end of it John was shaking with anger. "Mycroft was there within ten minutes. It was how I first realized that my brother was keeping tabs on me. I was obviously upset by the affair and he told me everything would be fine. He stayed 'til I fell asleep and was gone when I awoke."

"Did you ever see Vince again?"

"No. He stopped coming to class. It was like he had disappeared…" Sherlock's voice trailed off. "I never understood love. I thought maybe what Vince had said was true. So when I looked it up I immediately concluded that I was a high functioning sociopath. I didn't feel the same as other people. Acknowledging it just made life easier."

"You're not a socio-"

"I know that now, but back then I was too hurt to think that maybe I was just accepting what I wanted to be true. In truth, Vince hurt me deeply. Though I wasn't in love with him, I did care for him."

"What did you do?"

Sherlock smirked. "I dropped out of school and became a consulting detective."

John's eyes went wide. "You never finished university?"

Sherlock laughed. "No, I didn't need to when going into business for myself. Anyway, later I found out Mycroft had suggested that Vince study abroad in America and never come back. He never did. I was angry at my brother for a long time… Thinking about it later, I realized that it wasn't my fault. Vince was not a good friend or lover and it was better that he left me when he did."

John sighed. This was a lot to pour on him all at once. "Mycroft is always trying to protect you."

"I know, but I was young and hadn't ever had someone who made me feel so…"

"Special."

Sherlock looked up for the first time since their conversation began. His eyes shined bright with amusement. "I suppose so. I couldn't think of a word but that is a marvelous one."

"So you've still never been in love?"

Sherlock mulled that over for a minute. "I wouldn't know. I don't understand it so I wouldn't be able to recognize it even if I were."

John deflated a bit. Poor Sherlock, he had known that his life had been lonely but he never imagined he'd been so wronged in the past. Sherlock never let emotion get the best of him. "Not even with Irene?"

Sherlock let out a short bark of laughter. "That woman… I would get bored. I almost always get bored."

John could believe that. "That does seem to be true." John got up and took his coffee mug to the stink to rinse it out.

"I have my exceptions though."

"A good case, crap tellie, the different postmortem bruising patterns-"

"You."

John flushed scarlet and nearly dropped the mug he was washing. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm the most boring of all."

"Such lies. I can figure you out in a second but somehow you still manage to surprise me. I don't think I could ever get bored." With that, Sherlock went back to whatever was under the microscope.

John just stood at the sink, letting the water run and trying to calm his heart. It was silly, letting his pulse get so fast.

"Are you alright, John?"

"Of course." John turned around to find his flat mate away from the table and right in his face. Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pressed a hand to his head. "Well, you do have a bit of a fever-"

"I'm fine," John proclaimed, snatching back his hand.

Sherlock smirked and returned to the table. "I suppose now is not a good time. We have a client anyway."

John was about to ask what client when there was a buzz at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first few days after they returned to the flat from Baskerville it felt impossibly cramped with tension. John was still sore about the whole 'I have no friends' thing. It really hurt and even though Sherlock had more than made up for it he was still hurting. He pushed it to the back of his mind, hoping that he wouldn't have to face the reasons why just yet.

Sherlock gave him his space, not really asking him to work on cases, not acting like a crazed loon over cigarettes. It was peaceful and lonely.

John was sitting at his computer, staring at a blank blog post when Sherlock whirled into the flat like a tornado. John could almost feel his partner's fuming anger. "Rough day at the Yard?"

"That Anderson is an imbecile! He miscalculated the time of death window by at least three hours. I swear he almost let the man off scot-free." He stood in the door way, too frustrated to move.

John set down his paper, trying to keep the frown from his face. "Why didn't you text me?"

"No time," Sherlock deflected.

"There was always time before."

Sherlock turned to John. "You… You haven't said good morning to me for the past week."

"What?"

"Good morning. You use to say good morning every day except days when you were cross. I assumed that, given recent events, you were cross with me and... I was giving you space. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Give friends space when they need it?"

John groaned. "What I don't need is you coming home in a rage because Anderson is useless."

"But do you need space?"

John looked his friend in the eye and felt his resolve wavering in those big blue eyes. When did he start to notice those anyway? He looked away quickly and sighed. "No, Sherlock, I don't need space. Since when has my space been your concern?"

Sherlock smiled in a way that was almost warm. "You are always my concern. The problem is I never really know how you're going to react." When John blushed and looked away, Sherlock chuckled. "No need to be embarrassed, John. I do love a good mystery." John tried his best to stop blushing like a school girl and be indignant about the whole thing but Sherlock was suddenly in his face. "There it is again. That's twice now."

John racing heart calmed rather quickly at the abrupt subject change. "What?"

"That look."

"I seriously do not know what you are talking about."

"Lying again." Sherlock grabbed his wrist, searching his face. John furrowed his brow.

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"The grabbing my hand thing."

"I am not grabbing your hand; I am grabbing your wrist."

"Well, stop it."

"Can't. Have to be sure."

"Be Sure of what?

"Sure you are lying." Sherlock leaned back a bit, looking perplexed. "_For my purpose is that the truths be glimpsed and then again be concealed_," He whispered. Leaning in again, his hand slowly slipped down into John's and the once army doctor nearly jumped out of his skin. Sherlock beamed in triumph. "There it is. There."

"If invading my space is-"

"You find me arousing."

John gawked in what could only be a severely unattractive manner. "Are you out of your head?"

"Of course not; that would be messy, difficult, and painful." Sherlock squeezed John's hand tentatively. "I wonder…" John could see Sherlock's face begin to move in but couldn't make himself move or turn away, and when Sherlock pressed his lips to John's he just sat there and let it happen. At first it was only a light pressure but Sherlock suddenly insisted on Watson to participate. John found his fingers in Sherlock's messy brown mop and felt long fingers grab his sides and pull him to the edge of the chair. Sherlock tasted like nicotine and scones. He'd try and remember to be cross with him about smoking but it was hard to concentrate with Sherlock pressed against him and their tongues dancing doing the tango.

Finally the consulting detective came up for air and dislodged himself from his doctor. Sherlock shakily leaned back and sat on the carpet in front of John, looking up at him. John opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked and he immediately shut it.

"Well… That is not exactly what I was expecting."

"You didn't intend to snog me?"

"No… But I can't say that it was an unwelcome surprise."

John turned red as a tomato once more. "You are insufferable."

"If you wish for time to think on it I will return to giving you space." Sherlock stood to go, but John quickly grabbed his sleeve. The taller man looked back at him. Slowly Sherlock kneeled before him again a smirk tugging at the corner of his kiss swollen lips. "You know what's funniest of all?"

"What?"

"Hormones. Adrenaline. Pheromones. My brain is running through all the physical things that make me want you and yet…" Sherlock ran his knuckles down John's cheek and he instinctively leaned into the caress. "When I look at you my chest gets tight and breathing becomes hard. I don't know what to do with myself sometimes and I can't believe all that simple chemistry can do that to me." His smirk finally made an appearance. "Vince was dead wrong. I am so in love with you it hurts."

John inhaled to steady his temper. "Vince was a manipulative bastard who didn't deserve your time or affection."

"Third times the charm."

John raised an eyebrow. "Third?"

"When I was four I was dead set on marrying my brother."

John snorted unable to contain his amused reaction.

"It's not funny. I didn't realize the incestual undertones and repercussions-" John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock to shut him up.

"John! I heard Sherlock having a fit! Is everything alright?" They heard Mrs. Hudson on the stair and quickly separated from each other, John grabbed his paper and Sherlock his violin. Later John would have to tell Sherlock why suddenly jumping into a song is not 'looking natural'. When the landlady appeared she had a perplexed look on her face. "Well hello boys, I expected you to be having a row. Since you've been cross with Sherlock this past week-"

"I have not been cross." John said it a little too quickly, drawing the older woman's eyes to him. She stared for a minute, looking suspicious then smiled with what could only be glee.

"Oh! Well, I'm just going to get back to the tellie then. You two have fun." She winked at John and went back down stairs.

John exhaled. "She knows. Oh, lord and biscuits, she knows. Suppose she thinks we're going to go shag now that she's left us alone."

"We aren't?"

John's heart nearly stopped. "Sherlock! We've only just kissed!"

"Well, if you say so. I won't press… But we will get to that eventually right?"

John threw a book at Sherlock, turning red but grinning like an idiot.


	3. Chapter 3

It was three days after the funeral that he showed up. It was not the man he was expecting at all. He hadn't attended but heard through Mycroft the man he thought would show up had been there but this man was not him. This one was tall and handsome, yes, but his hair was a dark black and eyes a piercing green. His face was round and welcoming, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be on John's doorstep. John had blanked out, thinking he had heard him wrong.

"Who?"

"I'm Victor."

John looked confused and the other man chuckled.

"Victor Trevor. His friend from Uni? He never mentioned me? Not even once?"

John shook his head and let the stranger into his temporary flat.

"I was friends with Sherlock in his university days- before he dropped out... I suppose such an old friend isn't worth his time. He wanted to forget everything about it from back then." Victor looked around the flat and sighed. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." John gestured to one of the seats across from his sofa. He then went to go to the kitchen.

Victor studied him a moment, raising an eyebrow. "You don't look it."

John didn't even look over as he grabbed some cups from the cupboard. "Sherlock never really talked about his university days. Didn't mention you at all, actually."

"That was probably Vince's doing." John froze as he had been about to out the kettle on. "So he did tell you about Vince then. I would hate to have had to keep it from you."

"He told me they were in a relationship once. I thought he might be popping by but-"

"Vince would never do that. Not if he wanted to live." Victor looked as if something foul had been held under his nose. "I suppose he is the reason Sherlock and I no longer spoke. I aided in his departure you see."

John smiled a little, moving back to the sitting room. It was hard to put on the brave face but he managed. "Then I am grateful you cared for him."

"I cared for him deeply. It mostly made him uneasy."

John knew the look that crossed the other man's face. "You loved him."

Victor winced a little at the accusation. Then he nodded. "Yes. He was remarkable. I however could not match Vince in charms. He was also far more attractive. But if he hadn't come into the picture maybe… I think he could have loved me. But it wasn't in the cards. He hated what I did- with a lot of assistance from his brother."

"He knew in the end that what you did was for him."

Victor smiled. "Forgive me then when I say you are not what I expected when Mycroft said Sherlock had fallen in love."

John furrowed his brow. Mycroft's ability to monitor them shouldn't have surprised him after this long. "What do you mean?"

"You are so… Ordinary. I mean that in the best way." Victor's smile brightened. "Then again that may have been the appeal. Sherlock doesn't like people who think they're brilliant when they aren't."

"Didn't," John corrected. His throat suddenly got tight and breathing was a difficult venture to say the least.

Victor's face made the same turn and both men sat in silence. "When I read the article knew it was a lie. No one believed me. They didn't know him so it was easy to judge. Easy to-" He cut off, looking John in the eyes. "You know it's not true, right?"

"Sherlock said it was."

"But do you believe it?"

John opened his mouth. Sherlock had told him to tell everyone that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud, to tell anyone who would listen but- "No. I don't believe it for a second."

"I am glad you took such good care of him. I would have been sad to hear he died alone in the world." Now Victor looked on the verge of tears.

"I am glad to hear there had been love in his life, whether he knew it or not. Real love."

"He knew. I just wasn't… Enough."

"Enough what?"

Victor ran a hand over his face and then through his hair. "I don't know." His eyes wandered over to the mantle and his grim expression broke into a smile. "Is that Keats?" He exclaimed, snatching something from the mantle. He turned, producing Sherlock's companion skull. "He kept this old thing? Seriously?"

"The skull has a name?"

"Well, it was my unofficial name for him. Sherlock never liked Keats. Which is why I found it funny that he had one of Keats' poems read at his funeral."

"He did?"

"Yes, _When I have fears_."

John thought on that and felt the pressure behind his eyes begin to build. "I love that poem." And he hadn't gone to the funeral. That would have made the experience harder anyway. "It's so incredibly… Tragic."

"Yes, Sherlock has always had a thing for the tragedy. Loved Shakespeare's… Especially Cymbeline." Something in Victor's eyes then made John start. As if it was supposed to be telling. There was something not right about that.

"Isn't-"

But Victor merely grinned and stood. "I'll be off then. It was a pleasure to meet you, John. Even under the grim circumstances."

"Same to you. Have a good day."

Victor didn't wait for John to get up and see him out. Just left him sitting there.

Cymbeline…

Wasn't that the one-

John went to his desk and opened his laptop, searching for the play. He couldn't remember it but he was certain that Cymbeline was not a listed among the tragedies. He read the synopsis and the tiniest glimmer of hope came into being.

"If that's the case I will kill him."


	4. Chapter 4

John watched the players on the stage as Imogen awoke next to the beheaded Cloten, mourning who she thought was her husband, Potheusmus. It wasn't and everyone in the audience new it. She smeared the man's blood on her face and sobbed over his body.

It wasn't her husband's body.

It was dressed like him, but without the face she couldn't tell the difference.

The audience around him was chuckling under their breath. Oh it's so amusing. She thinks it's her husband but it's really her stepbrother. Oh, I wonder how she'll react when she finds out. Oh, the irony. Oh, he's fine and she'll think it silly later how she mourned.

It was about as ironic to John as ten thousand spoons when one was in need of a knife.

John left the theater in the middle of the ending reveal where everything started to come together. He wasn't in the mood to watch the star-crossed lovers reunite or the brothers take back their kingdom or the exiled soldier taken back by his king and country. It was too much to hope for- Sherlock being alive. He had believed, for so long, that Sherlock would just walk in the door and say "I'm alive and we've got a case." He'd then drag him along in a stupor and solve it with none of John's input. He wouldn't need it. It would be his apology. There would be no I'm sorry. He would just go on as if nothing happened.

John didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he wanted to.

He was always making excuses for Sherlock. Always staying by him, and trusting him even when he kept his plans from him. It wasn't fair that he went through all of that for him and Sherlock just kept pushing for more.

John was always so patient.

It had been three months since Victor's visit and John was tired.

So tired.

John ascended the stairs to his flat.

"John."

He stopped and turned, but for the hundredth time it was not who he hoped. Victor stood behind him, eyes nearly glowed blue bright in the light of the streetlamps.

"Hello, Victor."

"You were out?"

He nodded. John hadn't been out in a long time. When he saw the ad in the paper, however, he couldn't stop himself. "Went to a play."

"Ah, I heard they were doing Cymbeline."

The way he said it made John grind his teeth. "Stop playing games and tell me what you know."

"I do not know what you mean."

"Then leave." John turned to unlock his flat.

"John."

John turned back again and Victor was silent. Silent in a way that was asking too much of him. It was like it meant so much how could he not know?

John stepped down the stairs so that he was level with the taller man. He looked him straight in the face. It was a test. He knew it.

When it finally clicked he couldn't stop himself.

He punched him.

"John wait-"

"You bloody idiot! You stupid, selfish bastard!"

"John I can-"

"No! No you cannot just- will you take that bloody face off?"

Sherlock pried off the prosthetic makeup and revealed his sharp cheekbones and unruly brown hair. John punched him again.

"Would you please stop that, John? I-

"No! No. I am going to punch you every single day from now until you are actually dead! Do you hear me Sherlock Holmes? I will punch you until one of us no longer walks this Earth and you will shut up and take it."

Sherlock held his cheek and sighed. "Really, John I thought you'd take it better than this."

"No. No I won't because I-" John felt the tears coming up and it took everything to not sob. "I mourned you, Sherlock. Do you understand just how much that killed me inside?"

"John-"

"Stop saying my name like that."

"John I know it was difficult-"

"You have absolutely no-" But John stopped. That day on that street corner played through his mind. Eyes on him. He needed him to see it. He needed him to confirm that he had jumped, that he was dead. Desperate to have him watch.

"They were going to kill you."

Slow tears slid down his cheeks and he wiped them away. "Well, do you know how many times I wished they had?"

"John."

But he didn't go on. John was finally going to let Sherlock talk, and he had the decency not to have anything to say for himself.

Looking at Sherlock now though, he was brilliantly reminded of why he had so loved Sherlock in the first place. "Sherlock." He stepped forward and kissed him fiercely. It was like water in the desert or food for the starving. It was the first sign of life in his veins for what felt like all time.

He came up for air and John's hand went to Sherlock's cheek. "You owe me. You have no idea."

"I will never leave you again. I swear it."

"Oh, you have no choice. I would find you. I would hunt you to the end of the world. I will never believe you are dead ever again, you clever bastard. You fantastic idiot."

"I have so missed your particular way with words."

"Shut up and get in the flat, you heartless bastard." John went to drag him in and have his way with the stupidly brilliant consulting detective, when Sherlock stopped him and grabbed the doctor's hand. He laid it over his own heart and smiled.

"Not heartless. Feel this heart beat with the love it grants thee." John turned red but yanked Sherlock up the stairs after him.

"Stop bastardizing Byron and get in here. He'd be in tears if he heard you now."


End file.
